Summary: The love between brothers is strong, especially for the Winchesters, but so is the love sisters share. You would do anything for them. Certainly Dean Winchester can understand that. One-shot. Set somewhere in Season 3.

It's been a while since I've written any stories for Supernatural, but this idea came to me last night, and I just had to write it.

It's the longest one-shot I've ever written, and it is probably the darkest. Warnings: death and two instances of foul language.

Here it is: my first fic of 2011.

I hope you enjoy. I ask that if you read you leave a review. Let me know what you thought.


Die For You

They had not known. How could they have? All they saw was the demonic black eyes defying them. All they heard was the filthy mouth of some demon bitch as she cussed them out and refused to tell them anything. They were running out of time, and they were certainly not about to put up with this.

For a demon who had only been in that particular body for a week, they thought it would have tried harder to keep from going back to hell. Whenever they asked it anything though it would just laugh and sneer. It was looking forward to seeing Dean down under. No way were they going to get anything out of it.

So in a strong, clear voice Sam started the incantation – an ancient Latin passage that would send the thing back where it belonged. They were going to send it back anyways, no matter what would have happened.

They watched as the pretty teenage girl shivered as the demon began to lose its grip on her. She suddenly started to laugh, and Sam wavered slightly in the spell.

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded, motioning at Sam to continue.

"On my second day in this meat suit, she was hit by a car." The demon tried to chuckle one more time but chocked on the sound as it was removed in billowing black smoke. Dean hoped that was the last they would ever hear from that one.

They looked cautiously at the young girl who was slumped over in the chair, a thin trail of blood trickling from her mouth.

"We've got to get her to the hospital."

Without hesitation, Dean lifted her into his strong arms and carried her out to the Impala.


As soon as they entered the ER of the small local hospital they were swarmed by doctors and nurses. Dean laid the girl gently on a gurney as Sam explained how they had been heading across town to the diner when they had seen her get hit by a car as she crossed the street.

"So you thought it would be a good idea to move her instead of calling an ambulance?" one of the doctors eyed them suspiciously, but decided it was best not to say anything further. The important thing was looking after this girl. She was the only thing he wanted to focus on right now.

"Wait here with Linda," he commanded the brothers, following the other medical staff behind a pair of swinging doors. Dean stared after them, wondering if she would be okay.

Sam put a hand on his shoulder, and they turned to leave but were stopped by a very burly female nurse. Right. Linda.

"You need to wait for the cops, gentlemen, so they can get your story." She gestured to a row of cushioned chairs and waited until they sat down before she returned to her desk. They were the only people there, which was a good thing considering. Is it not better to have an empty ER one as opposed to a busy one?

It took the officer ten minutes to arrive. Dean spent the time restlessly fidgeting and continually changing positions in his seat, while Sam pretended to read a magazine for expectant mothers. They hated situations like these, where they needed to create intricate lies. Usually they avoided such circumstances, and they stayed clear of authority altogether, but they could not just leave that poor girl. It had been much too big for them to handle alone. Dean considered making a break for it, but Linda was keeping a close eye on them. He could probably take her, but he did not want to try. Especially since she kept looking at them like they were guilty and she was waiting for sentencing. That is the thing about a small town, when a couple of strangers arrive it gets noticed. And when said strangers bring one of the locals to the hospital with a flimsy story under sketchy conditions, well let's just say it does not make them look so good.

The officer introduced himself as Constable Marlowe. He happened to know the girl, Jenna Walton, since she was born. In fact, he was an old family friend. "A very sweet girl", he called her, stepping closer to them. "Now before I get your story here, I want you to know that I will get whoever hit her, and I'll bring them to justice. Trust me, boys," he vowed, turning narrowed eyes upon them. He made no attempt to hide that fact he held them responsible, but he listened to the tale Sam fed him nonetheless, jotting down notes.

Sam was describing some car that did not exist when a beautiful woman, no older than Sam, hurried in. She ran to the desk and asked Linda, "How's my sister? Where is she?" Marlowe signalled them to wait a moment, and he headed over to her. Just then the doctor emerged.


He did not reply. All he could do was look at her sadly, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. In that moment she knew.

Dean watched as the girl fell to the ground. It was not graceful, like movies sometimes depict it. She went down like a heavy weight, her knees and backside rushing to meet the floor. She covered her face with her hands, but they could not muffle the heart-wrenching cries that erupted from her. At first they seemed nonsensical, just random utterances of grief. Her voice rose to a screaming level, and Dean realized that she was saying her sister's name over and over again, interlaced with the occasional swear word and "Why, God? Why?"

No one moved, their bodies frozen in shock. Marlowe had stopped moving. No one dared make the slightest sound. The silence was broken only by the wailing of the girl, echoing endlessly off the walls. If Dean was honest, her screaming frightened him. He had heard a lot of screaming and crying in his life, but none of them had ever seemed as full of agony and sadness as hers. He had especially never heard such noises from a living person. Her cries shook him to his very core, and memories crashed heavily upon him, momentarily stealing his breath.

When Sam had died, Dean had screamed his name too.

Her screams changed into sobs that racked her entire body. Tears came pouring from her, and she trembled. Linda knelt down beside her. Rubbing the girl's head, as though she were a child, the nurse whispered meaningless words of comfort. They did nothing to help her heart, which felt as though it had been ripped from her chest. As full understanding of the depth of her loss set in, the young woman's breathing became more rapid. InOutInOutInOut. It was too fast. Too fast. She was hyperventilating uncontrollably and her face and neck began to redden and tingle. She kept trying to speak at the same time, labouring out sentences with great urgency, but none of them made sense. It was an awful scene.

The doctor broke from his stupor, and he too knelt beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder. "Karen, honey, look at me. You're having a panic attack. You need to calm down, okay? You need to breathe."

"I-I ca-n't." InOutInOutInOut. "J-jen-na's d-d-dead."

"You can do it. I know you can. Just watch me and mimic my breathing." He took a deep breath in and released it slowly. "Nice and easy. In and out." He did it again.

Karen followed suit. In...Out...In...Out. Her shaking subsided and she allowed her limbs to relax. Her breathing became regular once again, and she seemed as though she had calmed down. "Good girl. You always were the best patient I ever had."

Marlowe helped her stand and led her over to one of the chairs. Linda brought her a glass of water, which she sipped slowly. Marlowe and the doctor sat with her and explained what had happened in gentle tones, trying to keep their words as soothing as possible. They did not want her to become frantic again. Despite how tender they were being, Dean expected her to cry out again, for hysterics to reclaim her. Instead, she just stared straight ahead. The tears had ceased to flow, but they had left their mark behind, marring her lovely cheeks.

Sam suggested they take this opportunity to sneak out, but Dean could not will himself to leave. Something was holding him there. It was Karen. He watched her intently. He understood her. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming need to talk to her. He needed her to know that he was not the one who had killed her sister. He needed to know she did not blame him. He needed to find a reason not to blame himself.

The doctor excused himself, so Dean went over. He nodded to Marlowe. The officer was reluctant to leave her, but something in the younger man's face told him that he should. Karen was safe with this guy. Maybe he could even help her. Marlowe responded with his own nod and decided to stand by the desk with Linda where he could still see, just in case. Dean took the seat beside her, and they sat in silence for a long time. It was not awkward, but neither could it be defined as pleasant. It just was.

"You found my sister," she finally said. It was not a question.


"Was she conscious?"


"Jenna had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They were so beautiful. I wish I could have seen them one last time. They were always so full of life and laughter... It's a shame you didn't get to see them."

Dean shuddered inwardly. Oh, but he had seen them. She was right. They were the loveliest he had ever seen, and he did not get to see beauty too often. However, they were not as she described when he had seen them. Then they were dull and full of hatred. He wondered how Karen would have felt if she had known the evil that lurked under the pretty facade of her sister. He wondered how she would have reacted if she could have seen those eyes she cherished roll back into their owner's skull to reveal the colour of true horror, of the hell fiend that would steal everything from her.

"She's a dancer, you know," Karen was saying, unable to use the past tense. "Ballet, hip-hop, tap, jazz, swing, square – she's tried them all. When she dances it is a wonderful sight. She is so lovely and so graceful. People love to watch her. She can bring smiles to their faces or tears to their eyes. They love her. Such a good girl, my little sister."

Dean did not know what to say. He had no words to offer. With their life, it was easy to get so caught up in a hunt that you tended to forget that other people even existed. One could quickly forget that the demon was not the true reality, and that an innocent person was trapped inside. A person with hopes and dreams and fears, someone who was loved and had a life of their own, with their own problems and joys.

When Dean had decided to come over, he was not sure what he had expected to hear. Maybe it did not matter. Maybe this was what he was supposed to hear. He needed to be reminded that there were other people on this planet - real people with hurts and troubles that could be just as horrible as his. He needed to know the real girl within, not just the thing that had possessed her. He needed to know she was loved and would be missed. He needed to know that he had done the right thing.

"I hadn't spoken to Jenna in an entire week. Which was weird because we talk – talked – every night on the phone. I just got home yesterday, and Aunt Hilary said that Jenna had been acting strange all week. My parents died a few years ago, and she moved in with our mother's sister. I wanted to stay and be there for Jenna but she told me to finish university first." Karen's voice wavered, "Jenna was all I had left. She was my entire world." She was looking at him now. Her voice was soft, but it held so much pain that she may as well have slapped him for how much it affected him. He would have at least been able to take the hit. "I wasn't there. I failed. I'm her older sister, I should have been there. I should have protected her."

"You couldn't have known."

"Fuck that! I should have. I'm her sister, damn it, I should have known something was wrong."

The words she was saying cut deeply into Dean, and they convicted him of the guilt he felt over Sam's death. Her grief paralleled his so exactly. He had not known that was possible.

Dean looked lovingly at the tall younger man leaning against a wall. His shoulders were slouched and he had his hands in his pockets. He looked so awkward and out-of place. Dean smiled sadly. It was worth it, he reminded himself. It had been a selfish thing to do, but it had been worth it.

"Is that your brother?" she asked.

"Yeah. My kid brother."

"You love him?"

"More than anything."

"You would do anything for him?"


"You would die for him?"

"In a heartbeat."

She paused. "Would you die without him?"

Dean could not look at her, keeping his eyes trained on Sam instead. "Yes."

Karen nodded, placing her hand on his arm. He looked at her, really looked at her, and he could see the brokenness of her soul, the emptiness that had not been there an hour ago. She kissed Dean's cheek, surprising him, and whispered, "Thank-you for bringing Jenna back to me." He recognized it for the farewell that it was. He left her sitting there with her vacant blue-green eyes.

"What's your name?" she called after him suddenly. She needed to know.

"Dean," he said, and wanting her to have some truth added, "Winchester. Dean Winchester."

"Look after him, Dean."

He could not reply. In a few months he would be in hell, and he would no longer be able to take care of anyone ever again.

As they exited the hospital a strange uneasiness settled on Dean. He had an unusual anxiousness inside that he could not explain. So, he brushed if off, got into the Impala, and drove them back to the motel.


"Dean, I think you should see this," Sam said the next morning, entering the room with a bag of groceries.

"What? You've found something new already?" Dean accepted the folded newspaper offered to him. There, on the front page, was a photo of Karen and Jenna smiling, their arms around each other. "Loss of sisters devastates town," the headline read.

"That's not right," Dean declared, "only one sister died. Only Jenna." Sam just looked at him sadly. Dean ripped open the paper, eyes scanning the page quickly. His heart hammered inside of his chest.

"'Jenna Walton, 19, died early yesterday afternoon from injuries she sustained after a hit-and-run. Officers say she was brought to the Emergency Room by two young men, whose names will not be released,'" Dean read. "'Constable Frank Marlowe told reporters that they currently have no suspects, but are conducting an investigation, which will begin with a search for the car based on an eyewitness' description.'" Dean paused. "But what does that have to do with Karen?"

"Keep reading."

"'The victim's older sister, Karen Walton, 25, received news of her death at the hospital. She was very distraught, witnesses say. Last night, as she was leaving, Walton was struck and killed instantly by an ambulance rushing a patient to emergency. The paramedic driving the vehicle will not be charged. Due to her mental state, Walton was most likely not paying attention and did not notice the speeding ambulance. The Walton sisters will be dearly missed'..." Dean could not bear to read the rest. He could not bear to see further into their lives and know how greatly they had impacted this town.

He had recognized that look in her eyes and the desperation in her voice. When Sam had died he was the same way. He had not felt like he had a reason to live, a reason to keep going. He had had no hope, and a man without hope is like the living-dead. So, in a moment of deepest sorrow he had done something reckless and stupid. And, it seemed, so had Karen.

Dean could picture her as she left, having made up her mind almost immediately after hearing the news. He could see her lift her head as she heard the approaching siren, and he could see the small, sad smile that pulled at her lips. He imagined her matching her pace accordingly. She had only one chance and she had to make sure she did not mess-up this perfect opportunity. He watched as she paused at the curb, then deliberately stepped off just as the ambulance was about to speed past her. He knew the peace she experienced just before she died.

"You would die for him?" she had asked.

Dean should have known. She had sounded so much like he had.

"She was my entire world."

He knew what it was like to have everything taken from you. He understood what it was like to have your world fall down around you, threatening to bury you alive. He had felt that same blinding pain that only came with losing that which was most important to you. He knew the feeling of having your heart ripped out of your chest by death's icy fingers.

"Thank-you for bringing Jenna back to me."

He should have turned around when that feeling hit him.

He should have told her it would be okay. He should have lied through his teeth.

He should have comforted her.

He should have told her how she was every bit as beautiful as Jenna. He should have told her how much the world would suffer to lose them both.

"Would you die without him?"

No one would have ever been the wiser. They all would have thought it was an accident. Everyone, that is, except Dean Winchester. He knew.

Dean knew because, if the deal for his soul would not have worked, he had planned to kill himself too.